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Huntress790
Her bow perched in place, she pulled her arm taut, a hooded figure at the end of that pointed speartip. Her vision darkened as her eyes narrowed considerably in an attempt to focus. The figure was making mad gestures with his arms, driving wildly and flaunting his limbs every which way in superfluous expression. Her fingers turned a pallid fleshy white against the drawstring. One more second. One more second. One more second. The fierce sound of stone through flesh rang throughout the trees as his accomplice scrambled through the dust and lurched into the vegetation below. She rested her arm, bow brought back over her shoulder in a singular sweeping motion. Slowly, she lowered herself to the dirt below and brushed herself off. A gravelly chuckle behind her, the sound of blades screeching against broken glass that made her hairs stand up on edge. Her hand went instinctively for her bow, arrow already perched in position to pierce the unknown threat apparently shrouded in the oblivion ahead. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice sharp and demanding, the signification of a born leader. The same gravelly chuckle. Her eyes darted back and forth in an attempt to scour the landscape for the target masked by the natural canvas of the wild. Her arm crept back ever slowly, the arrow and bowstring attached to her limb following suit. “I will not ask again.” To any other member of her clan, the statement just uttered from the warrior’s lips would be a threat to their safety, a signal that wooden sticks with spearheads of stone would start piercing the air above them if there was no reply. The warrior did not see it that way. Suddenly, a piercing sound emitted from just behind her left ear, a whizzing sound that pierced the tip of her earlobe, causing crimson droplets to fall down to the dirt. She whirled around to face the perpetrators, only to be met with an enshrouding shadow that clamped down its onyx jaws on her figure. Slowly, another arrow perched on her bow in record time, she stepped forward. Once. Twice. Three times. A bleating sound took her back by surprise as she rose up on one leg and landed in a crumpled heave on the dirt. The bleating sound happened again, an unidentifiable noise pattern that she couldn’t seem to find the owner of. Then, a hoof, pointed and polished appeared in front of her motionless frame. And then another, and another, until all four legs of the creature were within her range of vision. The warrior stood up, brushing herself off once again and staring at the creature below her that had managed to give her such a startle. It was a sheep. Crimson-colored fur and perched ears that wiggled at the sight of her, eyes glaring up in admiration or scrutiny. She couldn’t tell the difference. She broke the silence first. “Hello,” she said, as gentle as she could, the only thought going through her bemused mind, Why am I talking to a sheep? The sheep gave a loud bleat in response, cocking its head and stamping its hoof once, twice, on the carpet. Then it turned to stare at the dense undergrowth behind the warrior and darted off into the woods. Confused and puzzled at the strange sequence of events that had just occurred, the warrior drew up her hood, recollected her composure, and headed off into the trees ahead. Her destination was fast approaching: a dismal camp where boots could be heard clattering and splattering on the mud from all directions in a perfect unified formation. Guns clacked into position and endless chatter about pointless topics such as the card games that were held in secret in the barracks or the drinking contests that left men in a drunken heave of broken glass on the cement floor. Two men carried a large black box into a tent off to the right-hand side. Bemused and puzzled as to the events that just occurred, the warrior crouched down and unlatched her bow from her back, notching an arrow into position. And then she waited. All of a sudden, that little red sheep appeared, trailing behind the guard that heaved the brunt of the box. Smack. The guard didn’t have time to react, blink, nothing. The only thing that was heard was the sound of the sheep’s hoof coming into contact with an abdomen, and the enemy soldier hitting the ground in a crumpled mess. The warrior nodded. Not bad at all, she thought. The sheep hopped up and down as well as she could attempt given the limitation of her body size, and the warrior understood it as a sign to follow. She crouched, hood still enshrouding her in darkness, and walked down the dense undergrowth of the slope to the compound below. Following in the steps of the sheep, they crouched behind a shipping container, biding their time and planning their next attack. “What shall we do?” The sheep gave a bleat, once and then again, and then thrust its head downward in a violent jerking motion. Curiously enough, the warrior seemed to understand the bizarre behavior of the animal as a raw strategy for attack, and she nodded, a clear signal that she was on board with the ludicrous idea. “Ready when you are,” she said, nodding in respect to the new leadership of the hooved animal before her. The sheep scuttled around the side of the container and out of sight, leaving only the warrior in its dusty wake to follow suit and enact the plan they had so recklessly crafted. Doubting it would even work, but curious as to the intentions of the little red animal, she drew an arrow and smiled, imagining the wrath she would endure on her enemies. Carefully and quietly, so as not to attract attention, she drew an arrow back into the notch of her bow and pulled the string tight against her forearm, the arrow perched and ready to strike. The head of the arrow was a blurred target for the poor soul below her who was in the last few seconds of his conscious life. She squinted, concentrating on the task at hand, and then released. The arrow made a whizzing sound as it hurtled downwards, being drug by gravity, as it found its home in the patella of the soldier. A sickening crack ripped through the haze that enshrouded the facility, and the man screamed in pain as he fell forward, clutching his freshly created wound. It would attract attention. She had to move fast. The man couldn't breathe, gasping for air as he dug his nails into the surrounding skin coated in a fresh, dense layer of blood. The viscosity of the liquid was evident as it poured out onto the stone floor below. It was only a matter of time before it was noticed. Realizing this fact, she stowed her weapon and slipped through the underbrush, heading in the direction the sheep had taken her towards their final destination. A large tower loomed over them, a monolith stretching out towards the embers of the ashy, burnt orange sky. She recollected her wits and scaled the boundaries of the glass building, searching for the entrance to the seemingly impregnable fortress. There wasn't one. The warrior turned to the sheep, at a loss for this unexpected rift in their strategy. The sheep bleated, only once this time, and then slowly, she started to float upwards towards the glass monolith ahead. She stared above at the scene unfolding before her, incorrect assumptions and renovated expectations unfolding before her as clear as the sun that loomed overhead and cast its shining rays. "I need to make a plan" she thought to herself as she perched another arrow into its home on the notch of her bow and pondered her next move. The sheep appeared next to her, hooves pattering on the concrete floor as she scuttled her way around the warrior's figure and bleated incessantly. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. "What?!" the warrior cried, clearly annoyed. The sheep nudged a crate towards her, clearly labeled in bold black lettering with a singular word, one that held immense power, great danger, and significant impact: Explosives. What followed was a combustion of wavering smoky tendrils and an eruption of scorching fire that mixed in their sweet symphony of destruction and scorched earth. The warrior's hood fluttered as she flew backwards, colliding on impact with the rugged asphalt. Her hands wrapped around something thin, paper, cylindrical. The only thing that remained after the dust cleared and the rubble surrounded her cloaked figure was a single arrow buried under the concrete slabs. And then the darkness took her captive, the incessant ringing in her ears of the day's events consuming her senses as her world faded to black. Her mind, complemented with her blurred senses, managed to dish one fact out to her struggling figure: Her name was Huntress and everything would change. Her name was Huntress and everything would change. Her name was Huntress, and she made an impact. For the good or the worse was unclear, but the time required to solidify that fact slipped through her nimble fingers as she fell into an interminable slumber.